“Will you come with me, Ginger?” I said, stroking him. The cat purred and went on, climbing up to my shoulder, where there was not much room for him, but he set his fore-paws on my shoulder, drove them into my jacket, and let his hind-legs go well down my back before he hooked on there, crouching close to me, and seeming perfectly happy as I walked on wondering where Ike was at work.
I found him at last, busy trenching some ground at the back of Shock’s kitchen, as I called the shed where he cooked his potatoes and snails.
As I came up to the old fellow he glanced at me surlily, stopped digging, and began to scrape his big shining spade.
“Hullo!” he said gruffly; and the faint hope that he would be sorry died away.
“Ike,” I said, “I’m going away.”
“What?” he shouted.
“I’m going to leave here,” I said.
“Get out, you discontented warmint!” he cried savagely, “you don’t know when you’re well off.”
“Yes, I do,” I said; “but Mr Brownsmith’s going to send me away.”
“What!” he roared, driving in his spade, and beginning to dig with all his might.